


epiphany

by drakelock



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecurity, Mutual Pining, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Smut, Trauma, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakelock/pseuds/drakelock
Summary: After the tragic death of Grace Mallory's grandchildren, the once inseparable vigilante fighting against Vought International became strangers overnight. Years later, when a young woman becomes Supe roadkill in broad daylight, their leader attempts to rally them all once more - but the time spent both together and apart has scarred them all.
Relationships: Becca Butcher/Billy Butcher, Billy Butcher & You, Billy Butcher/You, Hughie Campbell & Starlight | Annie January, Hughie Campbell/Starlight | Annie January, The Female | Kimiko Miyashiro & The Frenchman, The Female | Kimiko Miyashiro/The Frenchman
Kudos: 4





	epiphany

Billy Butcher hated the smell of sanitiser.

The sourness, how the stench burnt his nose, burying all the other senses. But, it was how he knew he was in the right place: M.M.’s office. That, and the way everything on the desk was straightened to perfection. The corners of his lips threatened to tug upwards.

He had missed him.

Them. Together.

_The Boys._

The smile faded almost as quickly as it appeared. Flickers of fondness quickly slipped into flashes of flames, burning bodies and abandoned allies.

Lost love.

M.M. stepped back inside, the hinges creaking as he closed the door behind him. Leaning against the wall, flakes of chipped paint littered the collar of his uniform as he exhaled, releasing his frustration before it all flooded back at the sight of the man stood beside him.

“Oh, _hell no._ ” M.M. groaned, shaking his head furiously. “What the fuck do you want?”

Billy rolled his eyes, watching as M.M. backed away from him, collapsing into the chair. He hadn’t changed since they had last seen each other, at least not physically. Maybe his arms were a little bigger, eyes a little less alive - but what Billy could sense was different, was _resistance_. The aversion of his gaze, foot tapping anxiously as he waited for a reply.

“What, I can’t visit me old mate? Rekindle the unbreakable bonds of brothers-in-arms?” He pouted, opening his arms wide for an embrace. “Come on, M.M.. Bring it in.”

M.M. didn’t move, or smile, his eyebrow only arching further up his forehead. 

“Look, if it’s all the same, let’s just cut the small talk. All you’re gonna do is lie and say how you’re doing fine, and I’m gonna lie and pretend like I’m happy to see you. Why are you here?” The two stared at each other, studying the other’s changed demeanour. Billy eventually shrugged, wandering towards the desk.

“All right.” He surrendered, “How’d you like to come back, have another go?”. 

Bowing his head, M.M raised his hand to silence him before he finished. “No, Sir. Keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know nothing about nothing. I’m a happy man now, life is good, Monique is back, we’re good…”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, yeah? How is Monique?” He asked as jovially as he could muster, guilt stirring in his stomach. Billy grimaced, forcing the feeling down.

_Feeling_ never helped, it just made everything harder.

M.M.’s eyes snapped upwards, a newfound edge to his voice. “Spits on the ground every time your name comes up.” He remarked, expression softening slightly when he noticed how Billy’s infamous saracastic smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t do that to her again, man.” M.M. added gently, before nodding to the window. “Not to mention, I’m actually making progress with these boys.”

Clattering of furniture and cries of anger interrupted their conversation, both their eyes turning to see the fight breaking out in the yard. “Yeah… so I can see.” Billy replied drily.

M.M. leapt out of his chair, fist banging on the glass. “Don’t make me come out there!” He yelled, the men heeding his warning as they stepped away from each other.

“Well, this is God’s work, I can’t argue with that. But a man of your talents? Wasted here.” Billy flattered, but M.M. just rolled his eyes.

  
“Look, Butcher, we were into some bad shit, man. Even before the Mallory stuff, and that was…” The same haunted expression that had contorted Butcher’s face minutes before spread across M.M.’s. Shaking himself out of his train of thought, he leant against the desk. “If I’m gonna make a difference, I just feel more comfortable doing it on a smaller scale. I’m a motherfucker with a heart. Whereas you?

You’re just a motherfucker.”

Billy met his gaze.

It hurt, but it was true.

It hurt, because it was a choice.

“Funny you should mention making a difference...” Billy drawled, plucking a pen from the pot and twirling it between his fingertips. “Because we just dusted a Supe.”

  
_“Bullshit.”_

Billy grinned.

He had him, hooked. Dangling the drugs, the danger, infront of an ex-junkie he knew couldn’t resist. 

Eyes sparkling with excitement, Billy continued. _“Translucent.”_ He let the name roll off his tongue, savouring the sound.

M.M. shook his head in disbelief, gesturing for him to sit down opposite him. “Well, come on, you lime-sucking smart ass. How the hell did you do it?”

“Big lump of C-4, packed right up his fudger.” He declared, opening his palms to mimic the explosion. “Boom, claret everywhere, _fucking diabolical_. But… before the fireworks, he coughed up a solid lead. Spilled the beans in a big way.”

Leaning across the desk, the determination in Billy’s voice was unmistakable. “Now, we play this right, we could shake up the whole hornets’ nest, bring down Seven and Vought at the same ti-”

“You mean do Homelander?” M.M. corrected, sighing after. “This is about Becca, isn’t it? It’s _always_ about Becca with you.”

Billy’s smile faltered, jaw clenching involuntarily. The glint in his eyes diminished at the mere mention of their names, a sullen stare replacing it. “Oh, you ain’t got your reasons?” He growled accusingly. M.M. shifted uncomfortably, the movement seemingly waking Billy from the darkness he so easily slipped into.

“It’ll be different this go, none of that ‘secrets and lies’ bollocks.” He promised calmly, tossing the pen back. “And that Mallory shit ain’t gonna happen this time. I swear to God.”

M.M. sighed deeply, running a hand over his head. “Are you bringing Frenchie back? ‘Cause I won’t work with that motherfucker.”

Without hesitation, Billy frowned and shook his head firmly. “Frenchie? No, I ain’t seen him in years… M.M., you’re the only bloke I can trust.”

A humourless scoff slipped from M.M.’s lips. “Since when have you ever trusted anybody?”

Billy leant back in his chair, satisfied he had lured his old friend back. That contentment, however, lasted less than a few seconds before M.M. spoke again.

“Speaking of trust...

What about _yourname_?”

** FIVE YEARS EARLIER **

The echo of your heels against the concrete floor broke the eerie silence of the warehouse; which until a few hours earlier had been filled with evidence boards, piling empty take-away boxes and peeling furniture found in dumpsters across the city.

_Home._

“Mallory?” You called out, frowning as you traced your finger along a pristine table that had once been veiled with dust. The room was drenched in the moonlight, which poured in from the skylights above. As you furiously as you flicked them, the light switches refused to illuminate the dark corners of the room.

“Frenchie?” You tried again, tugging your coat further across your chest as the chill began to set in – the heaters had too disappeared from what had been their usual scattered spots. “Marvin?”

The door creaked open behind you, followed by a soft shuffling as a shadow stepped inside.

“Billy?” You barely whispered; voice smothered by the panic rising in your throat like bile. Your hand instinctively moved to retrieve the knife from the holster under your skirt, but as you stepped closer you recognised the silhouette of one of the men who had grown to be one of your best friends.

_“I fucked up, mon lapin.”_

Serge collapsed onto a nearby crate, his wide eyes so haunted by whatever had happened it felt as if he was looking right through you. Rushing to his side, you shook your head as you hummed in disagreement, determined he was wrong. That what you had all built for years wasn’t collapsing around you.

“Colonel Mallory’s grandchildren, dead. Because of me.”

_Grace._

Your eyes squeezed shut, fists clenching. The memory of faces from a crumpled wallet photograph beaming up at you. Shaking the image out of your head, you crouched before him.

“Hey, hey… Look at me, Frenchie. We can fix this.” Forcing yourself to smile, you squeezed his knee encouragingly. “Go after the bastard, get justice. What we can’t do is give up, yeah?”

Frenchie bowed his head, crying quietly as he pushed your hand away. Flecks of powder from the tip of his nose drifted down onto your sleeve. 

Rising, you rummaged in your pockets for your phone before dialling the only contacts on the burner apart from the broken man beside you.

Once, twice, thrice. Nothing.

“Where are they, Frenchie. The others?” You asked, not recognising the fear in your own voice. Raising his gaze to meet yours, he opened his mouth to speak but no words came. That was answer enough.

“No, no, no.” Your vision started to blur, hand tremoring. “You can’t abandon me, I’m, I’m in too deep. They’ll kill me if they find out, he’ll…” Your heart clenched, lungs struggling as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

_How could he, after last night, after everything._

Collapsing before him, you clasped his hands. “Frenchie, please.” You begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

There was silence, par the distant sound of drunkards on the street and the cars that raced up the deserted roads, until you felt the lips of your friend press softly against your hair. Serge stood and let go, your hands falling to your sides, defeated.

“Je suis désolé, mon amour.”

The door creaked shut behind him, and an uncontrollable sob tore from your throat. Slumping forwards, your forehead met the freezing concrete as you clawed at your scalp desperately.

The Vought lanyard around your neck tightened like a noose.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> it feels counterintuitive to say given everything that is going on in the world at the moment, but i hope you're safe and well.  
> it's been a while since i've put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, as i've struggled with not just creativity but motivation to write in general too. i love the boys; the story, cast and crew have become a great source of comfort and joy so it felt only natural to eventurally start a fic as some expression of the gratitude and love i feel!  
> i'm pretty bad at tagging, titles and teasing what's going to happen, so we'll just take it a chapter at a time. :)


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